


In the During of a Moment

by Ragingbulldurham



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragingbulldurham/pseuds/Ragingbulldurham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The divorce had been finalized exactly seven weeks before, and Owen had shown up at her door with a bottle of champagne and a rueful smile to toast to the occasion. Things had gotten a little out of hand, and Claire had woken up in the morning next to her ex-husband, clothes scattered around the room, with an aching heart and a pounding headache.</i>
</p><p>Based on the Tumblr prompt: prompt: While Owen and Claire are going through an unexpected divorce, Claire finds out she's pregnant. Could it bring them closer again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the mentioned Tumblr prompt. The title is from The Lowest Pair. It's going to be at least two parts, but I'm afraid to commit to how many because I'm terrible at sticking to that. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

She was late.

She _couldn’t_ be late.

It wasn’t just bad timing, it was the absolute _worst_ timing.

The divorce had been finalized exactly seven weeks before, and Owen had shown up at her door with a bottle of champagne and a rueful smile to toast to the occasion. Things had gotten a little out of hand, and Claire had woken up in the morning next to her _ex-_ husband, clothes scattered around the room, with an aching heart and a pounding headache.

The divorce had been mutually agreed upon. The marriage had been hasty, the decision made during those first few months post-incident when too many things were in flux and it felt nice to have one thing be solid and stable. Claire hadn’t listened to Karen when she asked if Claire knew was she was doing, scoffing at her sister and insisting that she loved Owen and of course she knew what she was doing.

She did love Owen. That was never the problem. Claire had fallen in love hard and fast, and saying yes when he suggested they make this sticking together thing permanent had been alarmingly easy. It was everything that came after it that had been hard.

She worked too much, he didn’t take things seriously enough, they fought and fought and fought until finally Claire said the word “divorce” and Owen had sighed, running a frustrated hand over his face.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” he said, and Claire couldn’t hear anything else over the sound of her heart breaking.

She knew that she had been the first to throw in the towel, but she had thought he would fight her, fight _for_ her. But he was worn out, exhausted, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her as she cried. They spent the night talking it out, both deciding that they couldn’t keep going the way they were going, and the next morning he packed a bag and moved into a shitty apartment that smelled like chicken broth and sadness. Claire helped him move, pasting a bright smile on her face and talking about the fresh, new start for both of them.

It was, as far as divorce proceedings go, relatively pain free, and after meetings with attorneys, she and Owen would go grab lunch and a drink, reminiscing about the island, telling stories of their childhoods, learning about each other in a way that they hadn’t in the hazy, panicked lead up to their wedding.

Owen was her best friend. He was her person, and she decided she needed to keep him in her life any way she could. It was clear that they didn’t work as husband and wife, but he was too important to her to let go. She loved him (she was _in_ love with him, but that was neither here nor there. The problem had also never been attraction), and she wanted him around.

Which was probably why she was now staring at a calendar, doing math with a horrible, sinking realization.

She threw her things in a bag, and shouted at her assistant that she would be back. She drove like a maniac to the closest pharmacy and bought four pregnancy tests (Claire liked confirmation) and drove back to her apartment.

Positive. Positive. Positive. Positive. _Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

Claire sunk down onto the bed, and reminded herself to breathe.

She wanted to call Owen. He was her sounding board, he was the one she went to with news, big or small, bad or good. _Jesus_. Owen.

She was going to have to tell Owen. Not her best friend Owen, but her ex-husband Owen.

That was a conversation she was certainly not looking forward to.

* * *

 

Claire sounded odd in her message.

Owen had gotten done with work and saw a missed call from her (and her name on his screen still had the ability to make his stomach do flips), and a waiting voicemail.  

“ _Hi, it’s me. I, uh, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Are you around tonight? It’s not…it’s not an emergency, but if you could call me back when you get a chance. So. Yeah.”_

Well. That didn’t sound good.

He dialed her number as he got into his car.

Their divorce hadn’t blindsided him, because she had been right, they couldn’t keep going the way that they were going. Something had to give. He could tell that she was exhausted, tired of fighting, tired of feeling guilty, tired of feeling like a failure, and he loved her too much to let her keep going like that. So when she had laid divorce out on the table with a wince, he had swallowed hard and agreed. He knew that it wasn’t an easy decision for either of them to make, but he also knew that they had rushed into the marriage. In those first few months, he couldn’t imagine not having Claire by his side, and he had wanted to make sure that she didn’t go anywhere, that she was bound to him, that they were bound to one another. A proposal, marriage, it seemed like the easiest way to ensure that happened.

Claire answered on the third ring, with a breathy,

“Owen?”

“Hey,” he said, letting the sound of her voice wash over him. “What’s up? Is everything okay?” There was a long pause, before Claire sighed down the line.

“Could you come over? We…we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked immediately.

“It’s not an over the phone kind of conversation,” Claire hedged.

“You’re not making me feel any better here, Claire,” Owen accused. “How bad is it?” Another long pause.

“It’s not bad, necessarily,” Claire finally said. “It’s just…just can you come over?”

“Already on my way,” he promised. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

* * *

 

Claire was waiting for him when he arrived. She had stripped out of her work clothes into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that she had appropriated from Owen at some point during their eighteen month marriage.

“Hi,” she said in a soft voice when she opened the door. “Thanks for coming.”

“You have me a little nervous, here,” he admitted. “What’s going on?”

“I’mpregantandit’syoursandIthinkithappenedthenightofthedivorce,” she said in one long breath.

It took a minute for it to sink in, as Owen’s world came skidding to a halt, and he was grateful for the couch behind him as he didn’t think he was able to stand.

“Could you run that one by me again?” He requested.

“I’m pregnant,” Claire repeated, slower this time.

“It’s mine.” It wasn’t a question. Owen knew Claire wasn’t seeing anyone else, and he also knew his wife ( _no, Owen, ex-wife_ ) well enough to know she wasn’t having one night stands with any random strangers. “Holy shit. Are we sure you’re pregnant?”

“I took four tests,” Claire said, dropping down to the couch next to him. “I called and made an appointment for the morning with my doctor.”

“Right,” Owen nodded, still trying to wrap his mind around it. There was a beat of silence, before he turned to her. “Could I come?”

“What?” Claire asked, slightly caught off guard.

“To the appointment tomorrow? I’d like to come,” he explained, and without talking himself out of it, he reached over and grabbed her hand. “I’d like to come to all of them, if that’s okay.”

For the first time all day, a small smile drifted across Claire’s face.

“Yeah,” she breathed out. “I’d like that.”


	2. Chapter 2

Claire's father left when she was three years old. Karen remembered him, Claire did not, and she had long maintained that she liked it better that way.

They had gotten married young and fast, Paul and Louise Dearing, due mostly to the fact that Karen was about to make her appearance in a little less than seven months. Louise was a nurse by trade, working the night shifts so that she could watch Karen during the day while Paul went to work. He theoretically worked in the lumber yard, but what he really was was a drunk. And the longer they were married, the more of a mean drunk he became. Louise was working up to leave him, take six year old Karen and hit the road, when she found out she was pregnant again.

It only got worse once Claire was born, to the point where Louise didn't think she could leave the girls with him while she worked the night shift. So she'd bundle them up and bring them to the hospital and leave them to sleep in an empty room, fortunately having a kind resident and an understanding supervisor who let her.

For the second time, Louise was planning her and her girls' exodus, when they got home one morning to find Paul and all of his things gone. It felt like Louise could finally breathe again, and she took the girls out for breakfast and they toasted with their apple juices and chocolate milks to his departure.

“Good riddance,” Louise had said, squeezing both girls to her.

Their father leaving had done two very different things to the girls. Karen decided she wanted a family, with a stable, loving husband who would _never_ leave, would never abandon her and their children. Not every man left, Karen decided. She just needed to find a man who wouldn't. Claire decided that she needed to be able to take care of herself, and busted her ass in high school, getting into every school she applied to before committing to Harvard. You couldn't trust a man not to leave, Claire decided. It was just easier not to complicate her life and dilute her ambitions by worrying about having a boyfriend.

When Claire was seventeen, her mother was diagnosed with end stage ovarian cancer, and it moved swiftly. By her eighteenth birthday, her mother was gone, and it was Karen who swept in, coaxed Claire out of bed and into the shower. Karen was a new mother, carrying baby Zachary in a sling as she helped air out a house where sadness and death had crept into every corner.

It turned out, it wasn't just men who left.

When Owen Grady suggested they stick together, for survival, the concept was a foreign one to Claire, and she was sure he had no idea how big of a deal it was for her to put her hand in his and say yes. The frenzied pace at which they did things in the aftermath, moving in together, getting married, had been so uncharacteristic of Claire that Karen had half seriously asked if she had been taken over by pod people.

Claire was not good at relying on people. And it had been an alarming realization to her that she needed Owen. It had been one of the reasons when her marriage started to go south that she suggested they cut their losses and split before they were too bitter and hated each other too much.

“I don't want to wake up resenting you day after day,” Claire had said, and Owen had agreed, although Claire could tell that he wanted to argue with her, it was on the tip of his tongue. But he didn't. He gracefully bowed out of their marriage, and since he was still in her life, she figured that it had been a good call. She didn't have him necessarily the way she would have preferred, but he was still _there_.

And now she had gone and gotten herself pregnant, and what if he left? What if this was what pushed him out? What if he wasn't ready for this? What if it was too much to ask of someone? It would have been different, obviously, had this happened while they were still together, but they _weren't_ (which was _her fault, her fault, her fault_ ).

What if he left?

* * *

 

Hearing the heartbeat made it real.

Owen's hand tangled in hers, the swooshing sound filling the room, the doctor smiling at them, it was all suddenly, alarmingly _real_. 

They were having a baby. Unbelievable.

Her eyes felt suspiciously wet, and Owen leaned over and pressed the gentlest of kisses to her temple.

“Can you believe it?” His voice was soft, and Claire wanted to bottle this moment up, let them live in this suspended reality for just a little bit longer. One where things were simpler, where they could just be _happy_ about this. 

But, of course, things were far from simple. Claire couldn't quite forget that the man holding her hand was her  _ex_ -husband, and that there was so much that they needed to talk about, so many things they needed to work out. 

The night before the doctor's appointment, Owen had asked her shyly if he could stay.

“On the couch, of course.” 

Which,  _of course he'd stay on the couch,_ but it felt oddly imbalanced to have him in her apartment but not in her bed. She made a comforting pot of spaghetti and meatballs for them, and shelved the conversation she knew they would have to have until they had a little more time to wrap their minds around it. They ate in relative silence, and every once in awhile, Claire would catch a look of panic and shock ghosting across his face that broke her heart a little bit. 

_This is not how I thought this would go either,_ Claire wanted to tell him.  _This was not in my plans._

In the morning, when Claire emerged from the bedroom ready to go, she found Owen dressed and perched on the edge of the couch, the blankets she had brought out for him folded neatly behind him, and a cup of coffee in his hands. 

“I did a little Googling,” he told her, handing her the cup of coffee. “You can still have one cup of coffee a day. Which I know is about nine less than you normally have, but it's something.” Claire accepted it with trembling hands, and he scratched at the back of his head. “I just want to make things easier on you.” And Claire had to swallow the sob that threatened to escape, nodding instead with a jerk of her head. 

The doctor gave them a moment alone, and as soon as the door closed behind her, Claire let out a shaky sigh.

“Holy shit,” Claire breathed out, her eyes never leaving the screen. She would need to call Karen, now that this was real, now that this was a real thing that was happening. She wasn't sure if her sister would be over the moon at the news she was going to be an aunt, or if she was going to give Claire a disappointed look that was eerily reminiscent of their mother. 

But not yet, she didn't need to call her just yet. Right now this belonged to her and to Owen, and it didn't need anyone else's opinions and judgments weighing it down. Claire hadn't even really landed on how she felt about it yet. Mostly she just felt fucking terrified, and when she caught glimpses of Owen's face, she figured he felt the same way. 

“Holy shit is right,” Owen squeezed her hand. 

“I don't want to tell anyone yet,” Claire blurted out, her eyes finally leaving the screen to find Owen's. “I mean, I know that you're not supposed to tell anyone until the second trimester anyway, but I just...I'd really like to keep it just between us for a while.” Owen nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I guess we'll have some explaining to do,” he said, and Claire snorted. 

“That's putting it mildly,” she rolled her eyes. Then she paused, her voice uncertain, “You're sure, right? That you want to be involved? I know you said you wanted to come to my appointments, but coming to my appointments and sticking around to help raise a child are two different things, and we're not married and...” Something Claire couldn't define flashed in Owen's eyes, and he cupped Claire's chin in his hands so that she had no where to look but him. 

“Of course I want to be involved. That's my kid,” Owen interrupted, firmly. “Look, I know that you and I are divorced, and this is shitty timing, and blah blah blah, but Claire, I'm not going anywhere, got it? I wasn't going anywhere before this, and I'm _definitely_ not going anywhere now. You and this kid are stuck with me, whether you like it or not. I kind of can't believe you'd think I would just leave you to deal with this on your own.” Claire knew him well enough to know that he was working himself up to a rant, and her hand came up to wrap around his wrist and give it a squeeze as a preemptive measure. 

“I didn't think you'd just leave us,” she said softly, which wasn't a total lie. Once he had said the words, it had been like a weight lifting off of Claire. Of course he wouldn't leave. _He's not Dad_ , Claire had to remind herself. “I just needed to hear you say it.” 

And then she paused, playing back what she had just said, her heart skipped a beat. 

_Us_ . It struck her with a force that knocked the wind of her for a moment. She would nearly always be an us now. Even if Owen did leave ( _which he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't_ ), she wasn't going to be alone. She was never going to be alone. 

And for the first time, Claire felt the stirrings of something other than panic when she thought about the baby. A smile crept across her face. 

_Us._

_Unbelievable._

 


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re going to have to tell her at some point,” Owen said from his place at the end of Claire’s couch. 

“I will,” Claire answered defensively.

“ _Before_ the baby is born,” Owen shot back, and Claire huffed.

She was now thirteen weeks pregnant, and things were slowly, but surely, changing. Owen still came for dinner, like he always had, but it was more frequent than before, and he was coming up with reasons to camp out on her couch overnight.

At first he would cite too much to drink, or a long drive home and an early morning meeting, until he finally just shrugged and asked if she minded if he stayed.

She didn’t, in fact, she _liked_ when he stayed. But it felt odd, him in her house but not in her bed, and she wondered if it would be too awkward or too weird to ask him to stay, platonically of course, _in_ her bed. Because the thing was she slept better with his body, warm and solid, stretched out next to hers. She always had.

Just as he had always, pre-divorce, called her like clockwork at 12:30 to check in and see how her day was going. She allotted a half hour to chat with him, and it was a nice reprieve during her day. She would close her office door and let the sound of his voice wash over her. That had stopped when they had separated, but he hadn’t missed a day since they found out she was pregnant.

It felt a little to Claire like he was trying to prove to her that he wasn’t going anywhere, and when she was being honest with herself, she acknowledged that she appreciated it. Maybe even needed it.

“I will tell her,” Claire said firmly, shifting and tucking her feet up underneath her. Owen gave her a look that he clearly didn’t believe her, and she rolled her eyes. “I _will_.”

And she would. She would tell her sister that she was pregnant. It wasn’t as if she was avoiding the conversation, exactly, she just hadn’t told her yet. It felt nice to keep it between them, to keep it just theirs, just for a little bit longer.

They had successfully kept it a secret so far, even though Claire could tell that Owen was bursting to tell everyone he knew. He had thrown himself enthusiastically into all things baby, taking no time at all to adjust to the idea, unlike Claire who was still stuck on the fact that she was having a baby with her _­ex-_ husband.

“I’m not thinking about it like that,” Owen had shrugged. “I’m thinking about it that I’m having a baby with Claire, my best friend, not Claire, my ex-wife.”

“But there’s so many things we’ll need to work out,” Claire had argued, and he had infuriatingly shrugged again.

“So we’ll figure it out,” he answered.

That was the other thing they were working on slowly. The first of these major discussions had been the baby’s last name.

“I figured you’d just go with Dearing,” Owen told her when she had hesitantly brought it up. Claire had never changed her name when they were married, and had certainly been grateful for that when they had gotten divorced. “I didn’t really think about it too much, I guess.”

“I think I’d like it to be Grady,” Claire had said softly. “If that’s okay with you.” The smile that broke out on Owen’s face told her that it was more than okay, and he swallowed hard, grinning to himself and clearing his throat before nodding.

“More than okay,” he managed to choke out before he wrapped his arms around her and tugged her to him for a hug.

With that problem solved, she had moved on to the next serious issue.

“The baby will live with me,” Claire had said firmly, and she only felt slightly bad that it wasn’t up for discussion. Owen, to his credit, had agreed.

“Of course the baby will live with you,” he replied, so simply and so easily that Claire softened her stance.

“But maybe we can revisit that when the baby gets a little older,” she had offered.

“Maybe I should move in next door,” Owen suggested, and it took her a minute to realize that he was completely serious.

 _Maybe you should just move back in_ , Claire wanted to say, but she swallowed the words.

“Cat’s going to be out of the bag soon,” Owen reminded her gently, glancing down at his watch. “I should go. I’ve got to be at the zoo early tomorrow.” He stood, and Claire darted out her hand to grab his.

“Stay,” she requested. “I think there’s still an extra change of clothes here.” It was the first time that she had asked him to stay instead of the other way around, and she could see the surprise on his face. The corners of his mouth tugged up slightly and he dropped back down onto the couch, this time closer to where she was curled up on the end.

“Okay,” he said, settling back in. “I’ll stay.”

* * *

 

Claire took a deep breath and dialed her sister’s number. She was holed up in her office, having told her assistant to hold all other calls.

_Please don’t pick up, please don’t pick up, please don’t pick…_

“Hey, Claire,” Karen answered on the third ring. “Is everything okay? You don’t normally call me in the middle of the day.”

“Yeah, I’m great!” Claire cringed at her own tone. _Too much_.

“Now I’m really worried,” Karen replied. “What’s going on?” Claire would have rather told her sister in person, but she was fairly certain that Owen would actually kill her if she procrastinated any longer. He was right. Cat was going to be out of the bag sooner rather than later.

“I have some news,” Claire started. She took another deep breath. _Rip it off. Like a band-aid._ “I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Karen screeched. “Claire! I didn’t know you were seeing anyone!”

“I’m not,” Claire hedged.

“Then…oh. Oh, Claire, it’s Owen’s, isn’t it?” Claire couldn’t read her sister’s tone, and she felt herself bristle.

“Yes,” she answered, defensively. There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Claire couldn't stand the silence. “I know this isn't ideal...”

“You think?” Karen snorted.

“I'm happy about it,” Claire finally said in a small voice. “I'm actually really fucking happy about it.”

It hit her, like a bolt of lightening.

She _was_ happy. She hadn't ever thought kids were in the cards, not until Owen came around, and she never considered having kids with anyone but him. When they divorced, she just figured that was it. She wasn't meant to be married, she wasn't meant to have kids. If it couldn't work with him, it couldn't work for her, period. 

But this. 

This felt a whole hell of a lot like a second chance. 

“Then I'm happy,” Karen replied finally. “If you're happy, then I'm happy.” 

And Claire felt her eyes fill up ( _goddamn hormones)_ , and she gripped the phone tightly in her hand. 

“I am, I really am.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? (And I'll work on fixing it, I promise!)

“Nothing fits,” Claire moaned, falling back onto the bed. Owen poked his head in the doorway, a wide grin on his face.

“It’s not funny,” Claire hissed, catching sight of his smile, and then she promptly burst into tears, because it seemed, to both of them, that lately she was always on the verge of tears. It didn’t take much to tip her over the edge.

“Hey, hey,” Owen quickly crossed the room and dropped down onto the bed next to her. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to laugh.” He had learned that the best way to deal with a hysterical Claire was to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.  

“Nothing fits,” she repeated, wiping at her eyes. “And we’re going to be late for our appointment.”

“We’ll be fine,” Owen assured her, and she sat up next to him, and he reached out and tangled their hands together. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

It was time for her twenty week appointment, and after much discussion (and coercion from Claire, who liked to be prepared, and had fought hard to convince Owen they should find out), they were going to find out whether they were having a girl or a boy. Claire had already had to put her foot down that the baby’s name would _not_ be Blue either way, much to Owen’s disappointment.

“I can’t go out of the house in my sweatpants,” Claire exclaimed, going to throw herself back down on the bed once more. Owen darted out a hand to stop her, and stood up, pulling her with him.

“You have a thousand dresses. _One_ of which is going to fit. And then on the way home from the doctor’s office we’re going to pick out new clothes. This is a problem that’s only going to get worse, you’re only going to get bigger,” which was true, but was the wrong thing to say, and he recognized that as soon as he said it. He knew that even before Claire wrenched her hand from his and bolted into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. Owen scrubbed a hand over his face and gave her a moment before he knocked on the door gently.

In the past seven weeks, he had all but moved back into her apartment, even though neither was acknowledging that it was happening. He spent his nights sleeping on the couch, being separated from the life and the woman he wanted by a thin wall. It was almost unbearable, being that close to something he wanted so very badly.

He loved her. He was _in_ love with her.

He always had, he always would. And call him a selfish bastard, but he was excited for the baby both because he had always wanted kids, always wanted them with Claire, and because now they were in each other’s lives. For good. No matter what. They were tied together in a way that they hadn’t been before, and in a way that was permanent.

The divorce had sucked. There was no sugar coating it, and Owen’s biggest concern was watching Claire walk out of his life without a backwards glance. He had been more relieved than he could say when she seemed to want him to stick around just as much as he wanted her to stick around.

But even still. There was nothing to keep her from drifting away from him. Nothing keeping her from meeting someone new, someone who maybe didn’t want her ex-husband hanging around.

Now there was.

“It’s a good thing,” Owen said through the door, resting his head against the cool wood. “It means the baby is growing, it means we’ll get to meet him or her soon.” He heard her sniffling, and he changed tactics. “Claire, you’re beautiful. You’re _so_ beautiful. And you’re glowing. You’re getting more beautiful by the day. You’re wearing the pregnancy so well, and…” _Success_ , the door clicked open and Claire launched herself at him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, and Owen was taken slightly by surprise, but recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around her.

“We’re going to be late,” she said again, her words muffled by his skin.

“Screw ‘em,” he muttered. “We’ll get there when we get there.” He felt her nod, and then she pulled back slightly.

“Give me five minutes,” she promised, and disappeared back into her closet.

 

* * *

 

“Congratulations, Mom and Dad, it’s a girl,” Claire’s OB, Dr. Schoen, grinned at them both, their hands tangled together, their eyes both watery, and Claire’s breath caught in her throat.

_A girl._

She hadn’t realized how much she wanted a girl until she heard those words. Owen squeezed her hand and then pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Charlotte,” Claire said suddenly, turning to face Owen. “That should be her name. Charlotte. Charlie.” Owen leaned in and rested his forehead against the side of her head, not trusting himself at the moment to speak.

“Charlotte Louise,” he finally said, and it was Claire’s turn to feel overcome, nodding her head and swiping at the tears on her face.

“Charlotte Louise,” she agreed, and she hoped Owen was paying attention to what the doctor was saying, because she surely wasn’t.

They were having a girl.

Claire was sure of two things. One, Owen was going to be the _greatest_ dad, and two, that little girl was going to have him wrapped around her finger.

When she mentioned this to him, as they were making their way out of the building, he had snorted.

“Please, I trained raptors,” he pointed out. “I can handle myself against a little girl. It’s _you_ that’s actually the big softie.” Claire rolled her eyes, shoving her shoulder into his playfully, and then it struck Owen that this little girl was very possibly going to have _Claire’s_ eyes and _Claire’s_ pout, and _shit,_ she was right, he was never going to stand a chance.

* * *

 

Owen was making dinner as Claire unpacked her purchases from the rest of their day. It was in her bag of new maternity clothes that she unearthed a pale pink blanket that she didn’t remember buying.

It was incredibly soft, its edges lined in satin, and she let the material run through her fingers for a moment before wandering out into the living room.

“Hey, dinner’s almost ready,” Owen called.

“Okay,” Claire stepped into the kitchen, the blanket in her hands. “When did you slip this in?” Owen looked back over his shoulder at her, and shrugged.

“At that overpriced, pretentious boutique you really liked,” he told her, his words softened by a grin.

“It’s beautiful,” Claire murmured, her fingers skimming over the fabric. Without thinking too hard or too much about it, she came up behind him, and rested her cheek on his back, her hands coming around his waist. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “For everything.” Owen’s hand dropped down to dwarf hers, and he gave her fingers a squeeze.

“I don’t know why you’re thanking me,” he replied. “It feels like you’re doing all the hard work.”

“This could have been weird and awkward,” Claire said, not moving from where she was wrapped around him. “It _should_ be weird and awkward. But it’s not. It’s just…simple. You’ve made it simple. It’s just nice, is all.”

“I think I should move back in here,” Owen blurted out. “I know the guest room is already being converted into the nursery, but maybe we can make the office my room?” He held his breath waiting for her to respond, and she didn’t move at first, not a muscle, and he stood, still, waiting. When she didn’t reply right away, he felt the need to fill the empty space. “What if something happens? I don’t want to be across town if you need me, and then when Charlie gets here, I don’t want to miss anything, Claire. I want to be there for all of it. Every stupid, mundane minute of it. I just…”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Claire broke in, interrupting the spillage of words out of his mouth. “I absolutely think you should move in here.”

“Yeah?” Owen asked, turning around carefully, so that Claire’s arms were still around him.

“Yeah,” she nodded, giving him a small smile. “I think it’s a really great idea.” There was a pause, a small beat of quiet, and Claire was sure that he was going to kiss her, and more importantly, she was sure she _wanted_ him to kiss her.

Before he could, before he could lean down and brush his lips against hers, the oven timer went over, startling both of them.

“Dinner’s ready,” Claire said, feeling stupid as she pulled back.

_He’s your ex-husband, Claire. Ex. As in, you tried this once and it didn’t work out._

“I’m going to go wash my hands and put this in the nursery,” Claire gestured to the blanket in her hands. “Be right back.” She hurried out of the kitchen, and into the guest room that was being converted into the nursery. She closed the door behind her, needing a minute alone, and sank down into the rocking chair that had just been delivered only a few days earlier.

What was she thinking?

They were _divorced_ , and they were going to have a _baby_ , and they were getting along so well, so much better than they had at the end of their marriage. And it wasn’t fair to Charlotte, it _wasn’t_ , to try it again and have it not work out, because they tried it already and it _hadn’t_ worked out, so odds were it was going to end again, and what if this time it ended messily, bitterly? What if they couldn’t even be civil to one another?

Claire placed a hand on her stomach. She wasn’t making decisions for just her anymore. And it just wasn’t fair to Charlie to risk making a mess of things.

A light knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and Claire steeled herself, stood and pulled the door open.

“You okay?” Owen asked gently, and Claire pasted on a bright smile.

“I’m great,” she answered. “Now, let’s eat, I’m starving and we have to talk about how we’re going to redecorate the office so that it’s a usable space for you.” She placed the soft blanket on the chair and then squared her shoulders, passing by with enough space as to not touch Owen. Because she wasn’t allowed to touch him. They were divorced. It was time to be very clear about where they stood. They had Charlotte to think of.

It was what it was, and Claire might wish that things were different, but they weren’t.

They just weren’t.   


	5. Chapter 5

Owen wasn’t sure what he did, but he was sure that he had done something. 

He had moved into Claire’s apartment, made the office his own, and he thought it was a step in the right direction (a step even towards getting back together, something that he wouldn’t say out loud that he wanted, but that he _hoped_ was happening), but there was a weird tension between them. He wasn’t sure if he had pushed too hard- maybe he should have just gotten an apartment next door- but she had seemed okay with the idea, more than okay even, and he knew Claire. If she thought it was a bad idea, she would have put a stop to it.

Claire wasn’t being cold, necessarily, but she was being _odd._

And he wasn’t sure what he had done.

There was a moment, he was _sure_ there had been a moment, where it seemed like she wanted him to kiss her (and God, did he want to kiss her. He remembered all too well how she fit into his arms, how her lips felt against his, he remembered what she tasted like and smelled like, and he missed it so much that it was an actual physical ache), but the fucking oven timer had gone off and shattered the moment. Claire had retreated up to the nursery, and she came back down practically a different person. All prim and proper and Senior Asset Manager Claire.

That had been two weeks ago, and Owen was at a total loss as to how to fix things between the two of them.

Claire was finding reasons not to be around him. Spending long nights at the office, early meetings that seemed to come up suddenly and frequently. And when she was home, she claimed she had a headache or was exhausted and would retreat to her bedroom, the door shutting firmly behind her. Owen was aware that she had a stressful job, understood that she was trying to get as much done before her maternity leave as possible, and he also got that she was getting more and more pregnant, which meant that she _was_ exhausted, and headaches and backaches and all over aches were common. 

But two weeks ago she would have sat herself down next to Owen, wearing an oversized t-shirt that used to be his, and dropped her head on his shoulder so that he could rub her temples and massage her sore muscles. 

 Not anymore.

He was at a total loss as to what to do.

Claire had disappeared into her bedroom, after having gotten home late and exchanging the briefest of niceties. He had made dinner and offered to heat her up a plate, but she had passed, claiming not to feel well.

“You okay?” He immediately asked in a voice edged with panic. She offered a reassuring smile, resting a hand on his arm (the first time she had touched him in two weeks. His skin burned from her touch, but it was heartrendingly fleeting. She pulled back almost immediately, shoving her hands instead into her pockets, as if she was trying to physically restrain herself from accidentally touching him again).

“I'm fine,” she reassured. “I'm just feeling a little run down. Nothing some sleep can't fix.” He knew that sleep was elusive for her lately, or at least he assumed it still was. That was something she had shared when she was still sharing things with him.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he had offered, lamely, and she had nodded, and he had leaned back against the counter, listening first to the sound of her receding steps and then to the sound of her door shutting him out.

He was in his own bedroom, reading _What to Expect When You're Expecting_ when he heard her cry out. Owen was on his feet instantly, throwing open his door and banging on hers, his heart in his throat. 

“Claire! You okay? What's wrong? Claire!” This was exactly why he had insisted on moving in, and why, despite her chilliness lately, he didn't regret it. 

The door clicked open, and Claire stood before him, but she wasn't hurt, or in pain, or any of the worst case scenarios that had run through his head. She was grinning, her eyes filling with tears, and she grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. 

“She _moved_ ,” she said, her voice awed. “I can feel her.” Owen couldn't feel anything, not yet, but his face broke into a wide grin mirroring hers, and she surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and he hesitated only a moment before sweeping her into his arms. 

“Is it amazing?” He asked softly, and she nodded, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. They stood there for a moment, quietly, holding onto one another. Owen brought a hand up to bury in her hair, and breathed in the smell of her. 

He had missed her. He had lived in the same house at her, across the hall from her, and had missed the holy hell out of her. 

“I'm sorry,” Claire's voice was muffled. “I've been so _stupid_.” Owen tensed, waiting for her to say more. “I'm trying to do what's best for her.” 

“Charlotte?” And he feels her nod again, her damp nose pressing into his skin. “I'm a little confused here, Claire, you're going to have to walk me through it.” She sighed, pulling back. 

“I thought you were going to kiss me,” she confessed. “The night we found out she was a girl. I thought you were going to kiss me, and God, I wanted you to kiss me.” There was a _but_ coming. He could feel it. “But we're divorced, Owen. Because we were a _disaster,_ and it's amazing we get along as well as we do, and I don't want to ruin that. We're not good at being together, but we're good _together_ , you know what I mean?” 

“Claire,” he started, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I kept thinking, what if we try again and it doesn't work and we hate each other this time? What if we can't be civil? That's not fair to Charlie, she doesn't deserve that.” 

“Claire,” Owen tried again, this time his voice a little firmer. 

“And I love you, I do, and I probably always will, but we have to put her first, we have to think about her,” Claire continued. 

“ _Claire_ ,” Owen shouted, and this time he successfully stopped her, her mouth slamming shut, her eyes widening. “Can I get a word in?” She nodded, biting down on her lip in a way that he had always loved, always found distracting. “I'm in love with you.”

“But,” she tried, and it was his turn to hold up a hand to stop her. 

“You keep asking what if we don't work out, but hon, what if we _do_?” That effectively silenced her, and he could see the wheels turning in her brilliant mind, she was running through all possible scenarios, and it felt like an eternity had passed while he waited for her to say something, say _anything_. 

“You're in love with me?” She asked, a smile ghosting across her face. 

“Hopelessly,” he confirmed. Claire's mouth came crashing down onto his, grabbing his t-shirt tightly and tugging him closer to her. 

“Why the hell did you let me divorce you, you idiot?” Claire asked, softening her words with a grin before kissing him again, leaving him to sputter his protests against her lips. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter and wayyyyy more sappy than I had intended going into it, but I figured, what the hell? It's raining, my feet got wet, and we could all use some sap in our lives.

It seemed to Claire that things didn’t change as much as she thought they would once she and Owen decided to give their relationship another try.

The biggest change, of course, was that he moved from the guest room into her ( _their_ ) bedroom, and she slept so much better when he was next to her, when she could burrow into his side, her face pressed against his warm skin.

Not that she was sleeping all that well. Now that she was in her third trimester, sleep was even harder to come by. She was lucky if she managed a few hours at a stretch, her body uncomfortable and unwieldy.

Claire would try to retreat to the living room, try not to wake up Owen, but on their fourth night of sharing a bed again, as she threw her legs over the side to go camp out in the living room, his hand darted out and grabbed hers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I can’t sleep. I’ll just go read in the living room.”

“No, no,” his voice was warm and drowsy with sleep, but he sat up. “Don’t. If you’re up, I’m up.” That had also been their refrain in those first few months post island, when neither of them was sleeping very well.

_If you’re up, I’m up._

Claire had heard it so many times, as she tried to even her breathing, and remind herself that she was safe, Owen was safe, the boys were safe.

Owen tugged her back towards him, and she rested against his chest, his hand coming down to rest on her stomach.

“Your daughter doesn’t seem to like sleep very much,” Claire sighed, and she felt rather than heard Owen’s soft chuckle.

"Charlie, this is Dad,” he said, dipping his head towards her stomach. “You need to go to sleep, sweetheart, so Mom can get some much needed rest.” _Mom_. Claire had had months to get used to it, but it still felt so odd to hear. He tilted his head to look up at Claire. “Did she listen?”

“Nope,” she replied, dropping a hand into his hair and raking her fingers against his scalp.

“Damn,” he grinned, straightening back up. “She’s stubborn. Must get it from her mother.” He brushed a kiss to her lips. “Back hurt?” Claire nodded, and Owen began rubbing circles into her sore muscles, and Claire let out a sigh. “Only a couple more months.”

“I know,” Claire said. “And we have so much still to do.”

“We’ll get there,” he reassured. The first thing on Claire’s to do list was to tell her sister and the boys that she and Owen were back together.

A conversation that Claire wasn’t sure how was going to go. Her sister, she was sure, would be unsurprised, having had tried to convince Claire out of the divorce in the first place. But unsurprised didn’t necessarily translate into overjoyed, and Claire would be lying if she said that she wasn’t at least slightly worried about how the news would go over. The boys, she knew, would be happy at least. And that helped ease some of the concern.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Owen accused, his fingers working magic on her back. “I can see the wheels turning.” He buried a kiss in her hair, and she tried not to think about anything but how his hands felt on her body, closed her eyes, and willed the baby to allow her to sleep.

* * *

Karen answered on the third ring, her face coming into the screen on Claire’s work computer, a wide smile on her face.

“Hey there, Mama,” Karen grinned, having fully embraced the idea that she was finally becoming an aunt despite her initial reservations about the situation. “How are you feeling?”

"Exhausted,” Claire answered honestly.

“Yeah, that’s only going to get worse,” Karen’s grin didn’t falter.

“Great,” Claire muttered.

“What’s up? You okay?” Karen settled herself on the couch.

“I’m fine,” Claire clarified immediately, “I just, uh, have something I need to talk to you about.” Karen’s eyes narrowed, and Claire could feel her scrutiny through the screen.

“You and Owen are back together,” Karen said, her tone and face unreadable.

“How did you know?” Claire exclaimed. Sometimes Karen was so like their mother that it took Claire’s breath away. Louise had been able to do that too, know things just by looking at one of her daughters, particularly if it was something they wanted to keep from her.

“Oh please,” Karen rolled her eyes. “I saw that one coming a mile away.” Claire huffed.

“I certainly didn’t,” Claire argued.

“Of course _you_ didn’t. How’s this going to work, then? Are you two getting remarried?” Karen demanded.

“We hadn’t talked about that yet,” Claire answered. There were a lot of things they hadn’t actually talked about yet, but it had felt so good, so easy, and so natural to just fall back into a relationship that Claire hadn’t had the heart to dissect it yet.

"When’s he moving back in?” Claire hadn’t told Karen that even before this decision had been made, that Owen had already moved back in, and she clamped her mouth shut trying to figure out how to answer the question without provoking her sister. “ _Claire_! He’s already moved in? When did this happen? How long have you been sitting on this?”

Claire sighed, and let the story spill out, including the two weeks where she refused to let herself speak to him, let alone touch him, afraid that she was setting both herself and her daughter up for massive heartbreak.

"I love him,” Claire finished, simply.

“I know you do, sweetie,” Karen answered after a long pause. “You always have.”

“I know that it could get messy,” Claire admitted. “But isn’t it worth a try? Isn’t it worth the risk?” There was another long pause, and then finally Karen nodded, her eyes glassy and a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Of course it is,” she answered. “All the good things are.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Owen,” Claire pushed at his shoulder, “ _Owen_.” He finally blinked his eyes open, mumbling something that Claire didn't quite catch, and she pushed at him again. “Wake _up_.” 

“What?” His voice was warm and muzzy from sleep. “You okay?” Claire waited, counting down in her head until it seemed to click for him, his eyes widening as he scrambled into a seated position. “Is it time?” He was throwing off the covers before she could answer, rushing into the closet to grab the bag that she had packed a few weeks before with all the essentials. He came skidding to a stop right in front of the bed, offering a hand down to help her to her feet. “It's time, isn't it?” Claire winced as another contraction hit, a frown deepening on Owen's face. She sucked in a breath, and nodded her head a couple of times.

“Yeah,” she breathed out. “It's time.” 

* * *

There was so much noise, and so much pain, but then it felt to Claire like all of the sound and air was sucked out of the room as the doctor placed the baby into her arms, and the world narrowed to just her, just Charlotte, all eight pounds and six ounces of her. 

She was vaguely aware of Owen pressing a kiss to her sweaty temple, his voice full and warm and breaking as he whispered, “I love you, I love you both, I love you both so much.” 

“Hi,” she whispered to Charlotte, brushing a kiss to the baby's impossibly soft skin. 

Claire finally dragged her eyes away from memorizing Charlie's face to look up at Owen, a watery smile on her face. 

“She's so beautiful,” she said in awe. “Look what we _did_.” This, Charlotte, Owen, their _family_ , was easily the best thing that Claire has ever done in her life. There was no describing the feeling that washed over her, no way to describe how in love she was with both her daughter and with Owen, how no moment has ever lived up to _this_ moment, Charlie's slight weight in her arms, Owen's nose buried in her hair as he pressed kiss after kiss to the top of Claire's head. It filled her up, pushed at her insides, 

“You were incredible,” Owen told her, running a reverent finger gently down the baby's nose. “You _are_ incredible.” 

The nurse came to take Charlotte away to clean her up, and Claire felt the absence of her acutely as soon as she was lifted out of her arms. 

“Can you call Karen and the boys?” Claire requested, the pain coming back now that she didn't have Charlie to focus on. She was exhausted, bone deep tired, and she wanted her daughter in her arms, Owen curled up next to her, and to sleep for a thousand years. Owen just nodded, kissing her hard on the mouth, and giving her a smile so wide that she could have fallen into it. 

“I'll be back,” he promised, slipping past the nurse to go make the phone call. 

Charlotte Louise Grady, in a move uncharacteristic of either of her parents, was exactly two weeks early. Karen and the boys were planning on coming closer to Charlie's due date, and Owen had called them on the way to the hospital. Karen had insisted that her plans could change, that they were on their way, and had called several times over the past few hours to get updates and inform him that she and the boys had managed to snag seats on the next flight out. A quick glance of his watch told Owen that that flight should be landing momentarily. 

Karen picked up on the second ring, a rushed, “Is she here?” 

“She's here,” Owen confirmed. Karen let out a choked laugh. 

“Congratulations, Daddy,” she told him, and he can practically hear her smile through the phone. “We've landed, we're going to get the rental car and come straight there. Claire's okay? Charlotte's okay?”

“Both are great,” he reported. “Claire was an absolute champ.”

“Did we expect anything less?” Karen shot back, and it was Owen's turn to let out a small laugh. 

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “We didn't.” 

* * *

 

The room is quiet and dark, and Claire is fast asleep. Owen is stretched out beside her, the bassinet next to the bed with the baby sleeping soundly. 

Karen had trooped in with both Gray and Zach and an armful of balloons and presents. She had burst into tears as soon as her eyes landed on Claire holding Charlie. 

“You're a _mom_ ,” Karen wept. “I can't believe it.” 

They stayed until finally Claire couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, and Owen had politely, but forcefully, asked them to leave. They filed out of the room, the door shutting behind them, and then it was just the three of them left. 

Their little family. 

The baby stirred, and Owen could see her tiny forehead furrow, as if she was still deciding whether or not to cry, and he eased himself out of the bed and scooped her up before she had a chance to wake up Claire. 

“Hi there, sweetheart,” his voice was soft as he settled into the chair in the corner of the private room. “It's Dad.” _Dad_. He was someone's Dad. He was _Charlotte's_ Dad. “Mama's sleeping, and we really need to let her sleep, because you wore her out today.” He glanced over at the bed, Claire was still fast asleep, her chest moving up and down in an even rhythm. “We should probably get a few things straight. Mommy's going to try to tell you that I'm the weak link, but that's just not true. Everyone knows it's her.” Owen adjusted the tiny cap on his daughter's head. “And we're going to screw up sometimes, baby. We're human. That happens. But we're going to do the best we can. And I love you, and I love Mommy, more than anything. More than _anything_ , Charlie.” He paused. “You two are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Ditto,” came a voice, bleary and hoarse, from the bed. He looked up to see Claire's eyes open, a small, tired smile on her face. 

“Did we wake you up?” Owen asked, apologetically. Claire shook her head, sliding to sit up, and wincing slightly in pain. “How you feeling?”

“I've felt better,” she admitted. “In fact, the last time I felt like this I had spent the better part of a day and night running around a jungle from pre-historic beasts in a pair of high heels.” Owen laughed lightly. 

“There's a better parting gift this time,” he joked, kissing Charlie's forehead. 

“I don't know,” Claire replied, her voice soft, giving him a smile. “I got you out of that, didn't I?' Owen didn't know how to reply to that, so he just stood, carefully, crossing to the bed and lowering the baby into Claire's arms and then kissing her hard, pouring all of his feelings into the kiss, so that she would know how much he loved her, how overwhelmed he felt that the moment. “I would say I made out pretty well.”

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That about wraps this one up. Thanks for sticking with me! And the kind words! You guys are too good to me.

It wasn’t all easy.

They still fought. Often enough that sometimes Claire would think, _what were we thinking? This is why we got divorced_.

But it was worth it. Because for every moment where Claire was upset with him, or they argued over something stupid, there were three moments where she would look around and think _This is my life. This is my family_ and feel overwhelmingly grateful.

“You’re it for me,” Owen told her once, when she was exhausted from being up with the baby, and she was on the edge of hysteria, and she asked him, tearfully, what the hell they had been thinking trying this again. “Always. There will never be anyone but you.”

He was it for her, too, and she realized that she would rather fight withhim than be without him again.

And then there was Charlie.

Charlie was, without hesitation or doubt, the greatest thing Claire had ever accomplished. Forget the Park. In retrospect all those things she worried about, all her career accomplishments meant so little in comparison.

“Told you,” Karen would say infuriatingly every time she saw Claire. “I told you it was worth it.”

It was. It was exhausting, and hard, so much harder than she thought it would be, but it was so incredibly worth it.

Claire usually worked later than Owen, but occasionally on days like today when she decided that being at home with her daughter was far more important than sitting through another meeting, she swung by the daycare first, sending a text to let Owen know she had the baby.

 _We’ll see you at home_ , she sent, along with a picture of eight month old Charlie in the car seat, as Charlie tried her hardest to shove her tiny toes in her mouth.

Claire put together a pasta bake when they got home, shoving it in the oven before settling onto the couch. Charlie was teething, so she was cranky and tired, and Claire had sat through a series of meetings that afternoon that had drained her of all her energy, so it didn’t take long for both of them to drift asleep, Charlie on top of Claire, Claire’s hand on her tiny back holding her securely in place.

It was where Owen found them forty minutes later when he came in the door, toeing off his shoes and being surprised at how quiet the house was. He could smell whatever Claire had baking in the oven, and he glanced it to make sure it wasn’t burning, before wandering into the living room to look for his girls.

The sight of them made his breath catch in his throat. Sometimes it struck him how goddamn lucky he was. He crossed over to the couch, kneeling down in front of Claire, and gently brushing a piece of hair that had fallen back off her face. She blinked open her eyes at him, giving him a lazy smile.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” she repeated back. “I made dinner.”

“I smelled,” Owen told her. “Here, let me take her.” He carefully picked up his sleeping daughter, before reaching his free hand down to help Claire sit up. “You okay?”

“Long day,” Claire mumbled, rubbing at her eyes, and giving him a small smile. The oven timer beeped, and Owen made a move towards the kitchen, but Claire darted out a hand to still him. “You’ve got her, I’ll go grab it.” She brushed a kiss to his cheek and the top of the baby’s head. Owen followed a few steps behind, settling Charlotte into the pack n’ play in their living room before heading into the kitchen to help Claire out.

Owen knew Claire inside and out, and he knew that something was wrong. She was quiet, pensive, her forehead furrowed.

“I can practically see steam coming out of your ears,” he told her, placing a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she answered immediately, Owen just stared at her, and finally she sighed. “There’s just…it’s stupid.”

“It’s obviously not stupid,” he argued. Claire glanced in to look at the baby and sighed again.

“There was this investor today,” she said, reaching for the bottle of wine. “He was a little too…” She reached for the right word, a way to tell Owen without having him hit the fan. He could be a little overprotective of those he loved. A quality that Claire generally thought was a good thing, but sometimes she just needed him to listen without reacting.

She knew that she had to tread carefully, she could already see him tensing, his mouth drawn into a tight line.

“A little what?” Owen prodded.

“A little too friendly,” Claire finished.

“Define ‘too friendly,’” Owen said in a low voice.

“It was okay, okay? I handled it. But he made some suggestive comments and let his hand linger a little too long, and I stopped it. Immediately. I told him I was in a committed relationship,” Claire reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze.

“But?” She could see he wasn’t about to let this drop. It had gotten to her, whatever it was this asshole said, she wasn’t able to just brush it off.  

“He pointed out that I didn’t have a ring,” she tried to be nonchalant about it, but her voice caught in her throat, and he knew that it bothered her more than she was admitting. “He told me in his book that made me available.”

“Fucking asshole,” Owen swore, his hands clenching into fists. Claire didn’t respond right away. She completely agreed with him. The guy was a fucking asshole. He had thought nothing of stepping into her space, letting his hands wander where they shouldn’t have, didn’t take her subtle and not so subtle hints.

“I have a partner and an eight month old,” she said bluntly. “I’m about as off the market as they get.”

It didn’t bother her, usually, that they weren’t married. They had tried that, it hadn’t worked, and what they had now was working _so_ well. She didn’t need a ring and a piece of paper to prove that she was committed to Owen.

“We could be like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton,” Owen had joked, wagging his eyebrows at her. “See how many times we can get married and divorced.”

“No,” Claire immediately said, though there was an undercurrent of laughter in her voice.

So they stayed unmarried. Or, she supposed, more specifically, they stayed divorced. And it was fine.

“It’s fine,” Claire finally said. “He backed off finally, and it’s fine.”

“It’s so not fine,” Owen scoffed. “What’s his name?” At that Claire rolled her eyes.

“I won’t have to see him again,” she insisted. “It’s fine.” The problem wasn’t necessarily with _that_ guy, but with the fact that it could, and probably would, happen again. And she was slightly mad at herself for being bothered by what other people thought.

“Claire,” Owen tried, and Claire shook her head.

“I’m not going to change what’s working for us just because some asshat can’t take a hint,” Claire said firmly. “We were a disaster as a married couple. Can you imagine?” And a look that she couldn’t quite read ghosted across Owen’s face and he cleared his throat and without saying another word got up from the table and disappeared down the hall.

Claire sat, confused, until he reappeared, dropping down in front of her onto one knee.

“What are you doing?” She exclaimed when he tugged a small box out of his pocket.

“I _can_ imagine,” he told her gently, taking her hand. “Claire, the problem wasn’t marriage, it was _us_. We rushed into it.” She sucked in a breath. “But I love you. I’ve always loved you. I will always love you. And I loved being your husband. I know that it’s just a title, and if you don’t want to get married again, I understand. You’re right, what we have going is pretty damn good.” He opened the box to reveal a ring that was so very different than the first ring he had given her. And so much more _her_. It looked exactly like something she would pick out. Her first engagement ring was something that Owen would have picked out.

The difference was not lost on Claire.

“But I want to be your husband. I want you to be my wife. I really loved being married to you, and I’d love to give it another shot,” he gave her a half smile. “Will you marry me? Again?”

Claire stood, breathless, staring down at the ring.

“How long have you had this?” She demanded, finding her voice.

“Since the day we brought Charlie home,” he admitted. Acting on instinct, Claire launched herself at Owen, smashing her lips against his. He stumbled back slightly before regaining his balance, wrapping his arms around her, and standing, holding her tightly. He pulled back slightly, giving her a grin. “Am I taking that as a yes?”

“Yes,” Claire murmured against his lips. “Yes.” Just as he went to kiss her again, the baby began to cry, causing Claire to laugh lightly, pulling back and resting her forehead against his."She has great timing." Owen kissed her once more, before letting go of her so that she could cross to where Charlie was now awake. 

Owen watched her lift Charlie up, pressing kisses to the baby's face, rocking her gently and whispering soothing words. 

He was so goddamn lucky. He was getting a second chance. 

And he wasn't about to squander it. 

Claire's hand was resting on Charlotte's back, the ring catching the light and sending patterns on the wall. 

"I love you," he told her, coming over to where they stood. "I love you both." 

"We love you, don't we Charlie? We love him so much, don't we?" Claire cooed to the baby. She turned to him and her smile was blinding.  

"Come on," he said, dropping a kiss to the top of her head and then to the top of his daughter's, before making his way back to the table. "Dinner's getting cold. You have to eat. I've got lots of celebration plans for later and you're going to need your energy." Claire's laugh, sweet and beautiful, followed him as he walked away. 

He could get used to hearing that for the rest of his life. 


End file.
